An Unfortunate Hero
by Bookworm Kate
Summary: Foyle's War: Samantha Stewart, loyal police driver, falls for an unlikely man: Captain Hammond of the Royal Engineers. In the summer of 1941 in Hastings, Sam finds herself in the midst of the complications of first love and war. But when Captain Hammond becomes DCS Foyle's prime suspect, where will Sam's loyalties lie? Ralph Hammond/Sam Stewart (with, as ever, a hint of Foyle/Sam)…
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is set during the episode _A_ _War of Nerves_ in June 1941. I have always been slightly in love with Captain Hammond and find the work of the Royal Engineers very interesting. I disliked the way Sam was written as rather silly in this episode, however, and so hope to rectify that here.

As always, no copyright infringements intended.

Feedback is, as ever, much appreciated.

* * *

_Part 1_

The crash of broken glass startled the entire pub. They all seemed to react as one, as it wasn't unusual to be jumpy these days. Bombs day and night, and the unknown dangers of the blackout was enough to put everyone on edge. Sam Stewart, sitting in the corner with two other girls from the MTC, craned her neck to see what was happening. She couldn't see much but she recognised the voice of the man shouting.

It was Jack Archer, Corporal in the Royal Engineers, and engaged to a friend of hers. Sergeant River's daughter, Gwen, in fact, and Sam had an idea neither would be pleased to see him in this state. She was horrified to see he was holding a pistol and pointing it towards another man. She stood and swallowed hard, coming towards him. Archer himself was swaying, slightly the worse for wear from drink.

"Someone fetch a copper," she heard the barman hiss.

Feeling that Archer being put in the cells by his future father-in-law would do no one any favours, she stepped in.

"Jack, I'm a friend of Gwen's. Samantha Stewart — do you remember?"

He flicked his eyes towards her, narrowing them to see her better through the haze of drink. They lit in recognition. "Get out of it, Sam," he slurred, swaying again.

"I really think you should put the gun down, Jack. Stop this nonsense now before someone gets hurt."

To her further horror, he swung the pistol towards her, "Why don't you make me?"

"We're all on the same side, Jack. You aren't going to shoot anybody so why not put it down?"

He swayed again.

"You don't want to get into any more trouble, do you?" Sam said sharply. It seemed to bring him back to his senses, and he blinked slowly.

"Just trying to make a point," he said, rather petulantly. Sighing, he put the pistol down on the bar, and the barman moved it out of reach.

"You've made your point," Sam said. She put a hand on his arm and made him sit down on the nearest bar stool. The man who had been on the receiving end of the argument, let his breath out in a whoosh. "All right, Jack? You know I didn't mean no harm, mate."

A constable came in then, being led by a harried looking woman, probably the barman's wife. "That's 'im there. 'e was waving a gun!"

Sam sighed, thinking to herself, _so much for keeping him out of Sergeant River's cells._

When he was gone, bundled away by the constable with his friend in tow, the barman gave a low whistle. "Drink, miss?"

"Yes, _rather_!"

He poured her a sherry and she sat with a thump on the stool recently vacated by Archer. Sam's two MTC friends came over, clucking like a pair of hens and patting her on the shoulder.

A low voice near her ear said, "That was either inordinately brave or just plain stupid."

She whipped around to see a man in the same uniform as Archer, though with more insignia on his shoulders. _Captain_. He had clearly had quite a bit to drink as well, but his eyes were clear and light blue, face smoothly shaven. Sam had the distinct impression of authority from his stance and despite herself, found him rather dashing.

"I beg your pardon," she said, drawing herself up. She felt slightly diminished, dressed for once in a frock instead of her customary MTC uniform.

"Buy me a drink?" the man asked, offering her a cigarette from a silver case.

"I say, you're bit fresh. Why should I?" Sam could have ignored him and turned back to her friends, but there was something about him that peaked her interest. She wanted to know who this overconfident captain was. "Isn't it meant to be the other way around?"

"Well," the man said, "you've already got a drink, and I don't." He snapped the cigarette case closed without taking one. Leaning heavily on his elbows, he added, "Besides, you just stopped my corporal from being a right fool."

"Where were you then? If you're his commanding officer, certainly he would have listened to you."

"I was seeing a man about a dog."

"Ah."

"So, that drink?"

Sam's two friends had watched this interchange silently, but one now leaned forward, "Why don't you leave her alone? You've had enough to drink as it is."

The man brought his eyes slowly round to the young woman and shrugged. "Perhaps I have."

Chuckling, he pushed himself away from the bar. "Thanks anyway, miss."

Sam called after him, "Samantha Stewart."

He inclined his head, "Miss Stewart."

When he was about to turn away again, Sam called, "Captain? I don't know your name."

"Captain Ralph Hammond, at your service." He pronounced it _Rafe_, and Sam found herself smiling at him. He left the pub, trailing after his corporal.

She turned back to her friends, but the young Captain remained in her mind. Of all the unexpected things that had happened that evening, he had been the most surprising.

* * *

"Miss Stewart?"

It was Sergeant Rivers, and she stopped short, leaning over the duty desk. "Yes?"

"I heard about last night. Gwen's right upset. Jack's not a bad lad, just a bit silly at times."

"Well, no one was hurt."

"I know, and I wanted to ask if you would put a good word in for him? You were there and saw what happened. You know he didn't intend to hurt anyone."

"Go to court you mean?"

"Would you mind?"

"No, if you think it will help. I'd better check with Mr Foyle though."

Rivers nodded, looking at her gratefully. Sam didn't much like courtrooms, but it was the least she could do to help Gwen and Jack. It occurred to her that she might see the Captain again, and she felt a slight flutter in her middle.

The courtroom was as intimidating as she had feared, the female judge looking quite stern, but she said her piece about Jack Archer succinctly in a firm, clear voice. She told the truth as her father, Reverend Stewart, had always taught her, and it was with some relief when she was allowed to step down. Captain Hammond _was_ there, sat just to her right, watching carefully. She blushed as she felt his eyes on her.

He had spoken in clear, clipped tones, addressing the judge as if it was something he did everyday. Though, Sam reasoned, going up before a judge was probably less stressful than defusing bombs.

"Corporal Archer is an exemplary member of my squad. Since joining us he has been on over 28 UXBs call outs. His behaviour at the pub was completely out of character."

The judge said in a rather exasperated voice, "He was intoxicated."

"Yes, and if you will pardon me for saying so, ma'am, if you'd been stuck in a hole all day, ankle deep in mud with a ticking bomb between your legs, you might have needed a drink too."

The judge eyed him icily as the rest of the courtroom stifled a laugh, and said without hint of amusement, "Thank you, Captain Hammond."

Jack Archer was dismissed with a caution, and Gwen grabbed Sam's hand giving it a grateful squeeze. They all filed out of the courtroom, making for the large staircase that would take them down and out of Hasting's court. Captain Hammond sidled up beside Sam, giving her a smile. "Seems Corporal Archer and I are indebted to you once again, Miss Stewart."

"I'm sure the judge would have come to the same conclusion without me," she protested modestly.

"Will you let us thank you by allowing us to buy you a drink tonight? At the King's Head? Gwen will be there as well, celebrating with Jack."

Sam took careful hold of the banister as they descended, stomach fluttering pleasantly. "Yes. All right, I will. Thank you."

"Until this evening then, Miss Stewart." Captain Hammond gave her a raffish grin and continued down the steps. He cleared his throat theatrically as he stepped between Jack and Gwen.

"Sorry to interrupt you, Corporal Archer, but oh, what was it now? Oh yes, there's a war on." He grinned and clapped the younger man on the shoulder, "Come on."

"See you tonight." Jack gave Gwen a quick kiss and followed the Captain.

She turned to Sam who was standing rather awkwardly, watching the two men walk away.

"Thank you for what you said, Sam," said Gwen, breaking into Sam's thoughts.

Sam smiled, "Glad to help."

"Will you come for a drink with us tonight?"

"Yes, I will. Captain Hammond did mention it."

Gwen gave her a knowing smile. "He's a good man, is the Captain. Done a lot for Jack."

"Do you know him well?"

"Only met him a few times when I've gone out of an evening with Jack. Terribly funny and a bit, well posh, I suppose. Talks nice, you know."

"Yes…" Sam said, "I'd noticed."

The two young ladies walked away from the court down towards the high street.

"I'd best be getting back to Mr Foyle," Sam said, "well, to the station, I mean."

"See you tonight, Sam."

Sam nodded walking on alone. She was relieved Archer had gotten off so lightly, and she felt pleased that Captain Hammond had seemed to think it was partly due to her. _What on earth shall I wear this evening?_

* * *

Sam had decided on her one decent dress; it was rather her "go to" dress for social evenings, having worn it when she had been out with Tony and Andrew. _Never mind_ — it suited her, and that was all that mattered. It was blue and white, and she had some clip on earrings that matched. She sat fiddling with her hair, now down about her shoulders, until at last it was time to go. She gave herself a firm look in the mirror, _no need to be nervous, its just drinks_, and went down.

She was nervous because the Captain's presence filled her with butterflies like she'd never known. He was so self-assured, which in itself was attractive, but he was handsome too. The indirect interest he had seemed to show her thrilled her. She tried to tell herself logically that he was just being polite; he was grateful he hadn't lost a reliable Corporal, that's all. Yet, she still allowed the tiniest of hope to flit across her mind, that he was, in fact, interested in her.

The King's Head was already full, smelling warmly of beer and sweat. Gwen spotted her by the door and waved. They were sat in the corner, and Captain Hammond, still in his brown uniform, turned in his seat. Seeing it was her, he set his drink down and stood. He very gentlemanly took her hand and squired her to a chair next to his own at the table.

"Very nice of you to come, Miss Stewart," he said politely, "what would you like to drink?"

"A sherry, please."

"Right away."

Sam exchanged hellos with Gwen and Jack, who were holding hands on the table. When Hammond returned with her drink, they all began to talk cheerfully about the upcoming marriage. Gwen kept looking at Jack dreamily.

"Two weeks," she said happily, "though I don't know what we're going to do about food."

"I'm sure you'll find something," said the Captain. He turned suddenly to Sam, "I say, I hear you drive a policeman about, is that right?"

"Not just any policeman," Gwen put in.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle," Sam said, smiling proudly.

"I see. Well, I shall be sure to behave myself around you then."

For some reason Sam began blushing and she cursed silently. Taking a gulp of sherry, which only made her splutter, she flushed even more. Luckily, the Captain had swiftly moved on to a different topic with Jack. It sounded like something to do with their work and she listened with half an ear, all the while observing the man next to her.

She guessed he was about thirty. There was a sense of public school about him in the way he held himself and in his understated manners. She liked his keen eyes, enjoying the feel of his glances. He had soft brown hair that was cropped short, and she saw that the back of his neck was slightly red from being in the sun. _Probably from being bent over defusing bombs._ His hands too were brown and strong, and he kept them on the table, palms turned down. _Must require a steady hand in his line of work._ In the soft light of the pub she was reminded of the first time they had met. He had peaked her interest then, and now she wished he would turn back to talk to her.

The two men lead most of the discussions, Captain Hammond rather brash and quick to tease Jack. The younger man obviously admired him, and looked pleased to be the subject of the Captain's attention. They drank quickly, putting away pints like glasses of lemonade. Eventually, about halfway through Sam's second sherry, Gwen and Jack stood to go the bar together, leaving Sam and Hammond to themselves.

"You look very nice, if I may say so, Miss Stewart," Captain Hammond said, giving her figure a nearly imperceptible bold glance.

"Thank you. You can call me Sam — everyone does."

"Short for Samantha. Pretty name."

Gratefully, Sam was able to hold back any further blushes. She realised he was flattering her, and while it pleased her, she was also wary.

"You'd best call me Ralph then. This rank and file business does wear on one, doesn't it?"

"All right, Ralph, it is." She smiled at him. "Are you a very good captain?"

"The chaps seem to think so. We've muddled through all right so far."

"What is your work like?"

His face clouded for a moment before he said, "Ah well, it keeps one guessing and on one's toes."

"How did you end up in it?"

He gave a short sigh, "How do any of us? I volunteered. I was in the Non-Combative Naval Corp. I was a pacifist…well, I suppose I still am, really. I was a Civil Engineer before the War, and it occurred to me that this was the only work I could do without compromising my beliefs."

"I see," said Sam, looking impressed. "But it is such dangerous work…"

"Yes, I'd _rather_ hoped to be building bridges…when I started out in Bomb Disposal we had a life expectancy of seven weeks…that was nine months ago, so that's a bit of luck."

Sam gave him a slightly startled look, surprised by his cavalier tone on such an issue. She wondered slightly if he was always like this. Perhaps this peculiar sense of humour was a by-product of his work. _They must work under such terrible pressure…_

He leaned a bit closer, "All in day's work, you know."

She nodded quietly, disturbed by the sudden image of sitting on a bomb as the seconds ticked by, knowing full well life could be over within the next minute.

"What do you think of?" she asked softly. "As you are working?"

"Nothing. I focus on the job, otherwise I _wouldn't_ be so lucky."

Hammond cleared his throat, "So, what's it like being with the police?"

"Not overly exciting when there isn't a murder case on."

He laughed, "Do you get to hunt around for clues then?"

"Not really. I just drive; but it can be jolly thrilling racing about the countryside after suspects."

"Well, I wouldn't mind being the prime suspect if I knew _you_ were chasing after me."

They smiled at each other, and she saw his eyes sparkle with soft humour.

"Listen, shall we go for a walk? It feels damned stuffy in here."

"Yes, all right."

They threw back the last of their drinks and went to say goodbye to Jack and Gwen, who were in each other's arms by the bar.

Captain Hammond led Sam out onto the street, the evening dusk drawing long, with summer light still present at the late hour. They walked downhill towards the beach, chatting about Hastings. Sam had been in the area longer than he. She was giving him an interesting account of the time she had knocked out a suspect with a bin lid by the fisherman's shacks when the captain grabbed her hand and swung her into his arms, kissing her.

She pushed him away, taken aback by the suddenness of his movements. She felt affronted too, and she glared at him. "If that's why you asked me to come for a walk, you can jolly well forget it."

"I apologise. I wasn't thinking."

"That much is obvious." She continued to glare and he held up his hands.

"Really, Sam, please, I was just taken up by the moment. You look so lovely and, well, perhaps I had a pint too many. I'm sorry."

"Who knew the Royal Engineers could be worse than the RAF with regard to women…" her voice had grown lighter and he looked at her gratefully, relieved to have been forgiven, even if ever so slightly.

He moved forwards, continuing in their stroll. "So you knocked out this chap with a bin lid? That was very brave of you."

"Or plain stupid," she retorted, throwing his first words to her back at him.

He bit his lip against a smile and shook his head.

"Can I make it up to you?"

She gave him a sideways glance.

"Let me take you to lunch…tomorrow?"

"Yes, all right."

"Shall I call at the station?"

"Yes, but _do_ keep your head down. I don't want to get in trouble with Mr Foyle."

"Ah yes, the Chief Inspector."

"You were going to behave, remember?"

Hammond grinned at her. "Or he'll have my guts for garters, I suppose? Yes, I promise."

They walked on a bit further until Sam finally dared to look at her watch. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the time. "I must go now, Ralph. I've an early start."

"Let me walk you home?"

She nodded and turned back up the hill towards the Old Town.

"Might I offer you an arm?" He asked, laugher still there on the edge of his voice.

She slipped her arm through his and they walked companionably back to her billet.

At the door, she said, "Thank you for the nice evening."

He took off his hat, turning it in his hands. His voice was sheepish as he said, "I'm sorry about earlier. I did have a nice time with you though."

Sam saw the brashness fade from his eyes, and he looked like any normal young man for a moment. She decided then that if he were to kiss her, she would let him this time. _I would rather like him to…_

However, he merely took her hand, gave it a squeeze and said softly, "Sweet dreams, Samantha Stewart."

"See you tomorrow," she said, feeling it was a rather feeble reply.

He put his hat back on and watched her go through the door before turning on his heel and striding up the street. Sam leaned against the door as it closed with a _click_ trying to slow her racing heart.

* * *

The next day Sam was with Foyle and Sergeant Milner all morning at the docks. It was about a case of missing supplies from the shipyard and held no real interest for her. She kept checking her watch about every ten minutes, feeling it must be nearly lunch time. She was certainly hungry enough. When the low whine of an air raid siren went off, Sam gave a terrific groan. _Ruddy Jerry — why now?_

Milner shovelled her into the shelter with all the rest, and she sat with her arms crossed, foot tapping, feeling very impatient as the ground above them heaved and shattered. When the all clear signal did finally sound and they were allowed to surface, there was more waiting about. Apparently one bomb hadn't gone off. _Of all the rotten days…_

It was just as Foyle was saying to the owners, "Shouldn't we clear this area…" that a small lorry pulled up.

Captain Hammond leapt out and strode over quickly, demanding in a strong voice, "Who is in charge here?"

The elder of the two Talbot brothers who owned and ran the shipyard spoke up.

"Right," said the Captain taking charge, "you can help me move these people back at least a hundred yards." He turned to look over the crowd and blinked as he caught sight of Sam.

She gave a small nod in acknowledgement.

"Are you going in there?" Mr Talbot asked.

"Well, seeing as you've got an unexploded bomb in there, it would _seem_ like a good idea."

He surveyed the warehouse carefully, ignoring the two brothers.

"There is no UXB," said the younger of the two, "it went off."

"You think so?" Captain Hammond broke his gaze away from the building. "The windows would all be blown out if the bomb had gone off. There are no scorch marks or splinter damage either…"

The two brothers exchanged a glance.

"What's inside?"

"Old boats, hulls, that sort of thing. Nothing of any value."

"Right, we'll take a look." Hammond turned again, "Can you move back? Please?"

Waving to Jack Archer and another man, Ernest Jones, Hammond called, "You two, with me."

Sam hesitated even after Foyle and Milner had turned away to head back towards the police car. Hammond stood near her and said in a low voice, "Sorry about lunch." He gave her a quick flash of a smile. "Best move back now."

She nodded and took a step back, wanting to say _be careful_ or _good luck_ but finding that her voice was stuck somewhere in her throat. Turning away, she let him get on with his work, cursing Jerry with all her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

_Part Two_

The next day, when Sam was just making a cup of tea in the Police station kitchenette she heard the clipped tones of the Captain at the front desk. She nearly spilt the tea in her haste to put it down and fly out to the desk.

"Captain Hammond, how nice to see you," she said breathlessly. Sergeant Rivers gave her a look and discreetly removed himself.

"Hallo." He grinned at her, twirling his hat in his hands.

"Glad you are all right," she said without thinking. "I mean, that you are here." She flushed. "Why _are_ you here?"

He gave a low chuckle, "We missed out on lunch. How about dinner with me tonight?"

"That's very kind." She beamed at him. "I finish about six here."

"Shall I pick you up at your billet at seven, then? Would that give you enough time?"

"Seven would be fine, yes."

"Splendid." He grinned roguishly at her, "And bring a scarf or a hat for your hair."

"Sorry?"

"You'll see."

_Oh dear…_She had sudden visions of being crammed on the back of a motorbike.

It was another dilemma for her, after she raced home from the station, choosing a decent frock for a dinner engagement. Going across the hall to Susan's door, she knocked with a feeling of rising panic. Susan had been billeted there about the same time as Sam, and worked as a nurse at the hospital. The other girl opened the door rather sleepily, having only gotten in from a shift about an hour before.

"Susan, I'm so terribly sorry, but I need your help."

"Are you ill? Whatever's the matter, Sam?"

"I've got a Captain in the Royal Engineers coming to take me to dinner in an hour and I haven't a _thing_ to wear."

Susan laughed, rubbing her eyes, "Come in, I've got just the thing. A captain, eh? _Do_ tell."

They found her a lovely red dress to wear. It was a little small for Sam, as Susan was shorter, but it swished around her knees pleasantly enough, hugging tightly at her curves. Susan, wide awake now and having taken on Sam's appearance for this dinner as a matter of seriousness, was applying a deep red lipstick that matched the dress and brought out the fullness of Sam's face in a most becoming fashion. They pulled Sam's hair back on one side, pinning it fast.

"He said to bring a hat or scarf…"

"Ooh, has he got a motor?"

"I haven't a clue. I just hope it isn't a smelly motorbike that roars up and down the lanes. The last thing I need is for us to be stopped. I'm sure Mr Foyle wouldn't approve."

Susan giggled, "Of this dashing captain or the tearing about?"

Sam pursed her lips at her in the mirror.

A sharp knock on the door below made them both jump. "He's here," Sam hissed, scrabbling for her last bits and pieces and searching for her handbag.

"Here," Susan threw a pale, silk scarf at her, "take this just in case."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, now _go_ before he gives you up and goes home."

"Thanks awfully," Sam said, rushing down the stairs two at a time.

Their landlady had opened the door, and she and the captain were chatting amicably in the hall. He must have said something rather jolly because the landlady was giggling behind her hand like a schoolgirl. _Drat the man…_ Sam held her breath when she saw him. He was in uniform, standing ramrod straight, hat under his arm. Captain Hammond looked up and saw her. His face broke into a handsome smile and he eyed her appreciatively.

"Hallo."

"Hallo."

_Oh do say something more intelligent than hallo,_ she chastised herself furiously.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Sam nodded.

"Have a nice time, dearie," said Sam's landlady, ushering them out.

Sam wasn't entirely sure if she was speaking to the captain or herself, having never been called 'dearie' before by the rather dragon of a landlady. _Well, she obviously approves of him._

Once in the street Sam stopped short, staring open mouthed. In the pink light of evening a beautiful emerald green, two seater convertible MG roadster stood gleaming.

"Oh golly. She's _gorgeous_," Sam breathed, taking a step or two closer.

"As are you," Hammond said smoothly, watching her admire the motor with some amusement.

"Is it the '36 T model? The 1.3 litre?"

Hammond looked suitably impressed, "Yes. Goes up to eighty miles per hour, not that I've ever had the chance to test it, mind."

"Is it really yours?"

He grinned, "Yes. Thought if I was going to cop it any day I might as well buy the car I always dreamt about."

Going around the side, he opened the small door for her. "Bit of a squeeze but she goes like an absolute dream."

Sam, grinning ear to ear, slid in, folding herself into the small bench seat. She wrapped her hair tightly with Susan's scarf to keep the wind from blowing away all their efforts. The captain settled himself in next to her, their shoulders touching in the small space.

"Let's hope it doesn't rain," he said lightly, eyeing the open canopy.

The MG started up with a delightful purr and they were off.

"I thought the Royal Crescent might be nice," he shouted over the sound of the engine as they drove along the coast road.

Sam looked at him quickly, "Are you sure?" It was awfully expensive and in the last year only the very well to do went there.

"Yes. There might be some dancing later as well. Thought we could make an evening of it." He shot her a glance, "If you like."

"Sounds marvellous!"

The hotel was just as lovely as she'd imagined it. Hammond ordered for them both, and Sam wondered at the good quality of the food. Salad greens and pates, a fish course with fresh vegetables … she was nearly more interested in the dishes they kept bringing out than the conversation. Sam thought he was inordinately pleased with himself throughout the entire dinner. He was as brash as ever, and quick to laugh and joke, but there was an air of frenzy about it. Sam supposed that surviving another day at his job _would_ be cause for such a release of tension, but there was something else about it. She couldn't put her finger on it. He splashed out on drinks, though she noticed he was careful to only have two cocktails. She felt herself spoiled and rather enjoyed the feeling.

They talked about everything, starting with childhood, then schooling, and on up to the war. She found he was quite well read and they had a nice time discussing their favourite authors. She also asked him about his work as an engineer before the war. When he inquired, she told him about her family of clergymen, and he seemed intrigued by her stories of village life that she had experienced during the holidays. He had no family left himself, which he said made his job a bit easier.

"Not so bad if you haven't got your people worrying about you. Jack and Ernie are worse off in that respect, and Jack about to get married too."

Sam said nothing at first, thinking to herself that _she_ was worried about him. She tried not to think about it.

"He admires you very much, Ralph," she said slowly, "he'd do anything you said I should think."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, voice suddenly sharp.

"Nothing," she said, surprised, "only that he is a bit like a puppy, following you about, that's all."

Hammond relaxed, "Yes, I suppose you're right. He's a good lad. I try to keep him out of it as much as possible — send him away while I do the defusing, that sort of thing. Should like to see him married…"

He sounded wistful, and Sam reached for his hand across the table. "You are a good man, Ralph."

"If only," he murmured. He squeezed her hand. "Shall we go dancing?"

He paid for their meal with crisp five pound notes. Sam tried not to notice, but it did seem odd. She hadn't seen any like that in ages. It would make sense for him to have plenty of money with his background, she supposed. Putting it from her mind, she let him whirl them onto the dance floor. He was a good dancer, careening her about in wide arcs, making her collapse into helpless giggles as he gave running commentaries on the other people around the room. It was a strange mix of people; uniformed servicemen, politician types, young people from town — a wartime dance floor.

Here, pressed against him, she could smell his aftershave and feel the warmth from the palms of his hands. His arms were strong around her on the slower numbers and his eyes had pooled into soft, light blue smudges. Under his gaze, she felt beautiful in the borrowed red dress.

Stroking the back of her hand on his chest he whispered, "Shall we get some fresh air?"

He nodded with his head towards the large terrace at the side of the hotel. They slipped away from the press of humanity and went to stand by the balustrade, looking out over the sea. The moon was just beginning to rise in the summer sky.

"What a beautiful evening," Sam sighed happily.

"How glad I am to be here with you, Samantha," he said softly. Taking her hand gently in his, he found her eyes. "I must be the luckiest man in England."

The genuine note in his voice was heartfelt and for some reason this made Sam want to cry. The realisation that his life was so transient seemed to hit her. To hide this fact, she closed the distance between them and kissed him. He returned her kiss before chuckling slightly.

"Why are you laughing?" she murmured, wondering if she was doing it wrong.

"Because I got told off for doing the same thing…"

"Yes, but this is different," she said quickly.

"Not sure how, but I don't mind in the slightest." He held both her hands now, and brought them up to his lips. "May I kiss you again, Sam?"

She nodded, thinking that saying, _yes, please_ might sound unladylike.

Hammond leaned in, tracing the contours of her face with his nose, brushing her cheeks with his lips. Kissing her firmly, Sam felt her knees begin to tremble. He wrapped an arm around her middle, pulling her tight against him. _It's heaven to be in his arms_, she thought blasphemously.

She felt so alive on the way home in the MG, wind rushing against her face. All her senses seemed to be tingling and the excitement of a perfect evening was coursing through her. He held her hand the entire way, only letting go to change gears.

At her door, Hammond took off his hat slowly.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, Ralph."

He kissed her gently on the lips. "The pleasure was all mine. May I see you again?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll call."

"Goodnight."

"Sweet dreams, darling Sam."

She went in and heard the purr of the motor starting up a moment later. A silly grin seemed to have plastered itself on her face and she went up the stairs to bed feeling the happiest she'd ever been.

* * *

While driving DCS Foyle and DS Milner to and fro the next day, Sam did her utmost to keep the giddy feelings from showing. Foyle kept giving her long looks, and when she missed a turning for the second time that day, he was inclined to be short with her. From then on she paid greater attention to the road, and it was only when Milner mentioned "Sapper Jones" that her ears pricked.

"The barman says he was trying to pay with a new five pound note; couldn't make the change of course. Do you think that has something to do with his disappearance?"

"Could well be, Milner," said Foyle thoughtfully, a forefinger tapping his lip as he stared out the windscreen.

Sam turned quickly to look at Milner, "Sapper Jones?"

"Sam!"

She snapped her head back.

"_Do_ watch the road, if you would." Foyle shifted in his seat.

"Yes, of course, sir. Sorry, sir. What about Sapper Jones?"

Foyle looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "What of him?"

"Is he missing, sir?"

"We're going to find out. The Royal Engineers HQ, please, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard, sudden unpleasant thoughts connecting in her mind.

She stayed by the car fidgeting while Captain Hammond took Foyle and Milner on a tour of the HQ. "He's probably just gone for a walk; he'll turn up soon," she heard Hammond say about Jones. His voice was all wrong though, and Sam, with a sinking feeling, knew there was something going on.

When the men returned, Sam stood up, looking eagerly for a sign of some answers. Foyle's look was grim though, and she knew that he would keep his thoughts to himself no matter how much she pestered. Once the two policeman had said goodbye and began walking towards the car, Hammond caught Sam's eye. She bit her lip to stop herself from going to him. He gave her a little nod and half smile. _It will be all right_ it seemed to say.

They drove back to the Police station in silence. As Sam pulled carefully into the station's yard, Foyle said in a quiet voice, "If you would be so kind as to bring some tea to my office in about ten minutes, Sam."

He face was impassive, blue eyes clear and giving nothing away. But is was then that Sam _knew_ something was wrong. Her heart sank like a stone through her and she nearly gasped from the sensation.

Trailing after the two men, she went into the kitchenette, feeling subdued and worried. Ten minutes later, as requested, she knocked on Foyle's door with a cup of steaming tea.

Foyle was pacing by the window, leafing through papers in his hand. He looked up and rubbed his forehead, "Thanks, Sam. Um…come in a minute; yes, shut the door."

_Do not cry, whatever you do_ she told herself fiercely. If she was to be cross examined, she would give her answers honourably without tears.

Setting the tea down on the edge of his desk, she sank into a chair, clasping her hands together in agitation.

Instead of sitting behind his desk, Foyle came to sit in the chair beside her. He waited quietly until she looked up and met his eyes, and then smiled kindly. Despite her earlier promise to herself, her eyes welled up.

"It's about the money, isn't it?"

"It is."

"He can't be involved, sir."

"What can you tell me?"

The tears were slipping past her nose now, and she cursed inwardly. Her heart was racing so she took three calming breaths. "Not much, sir, honestly. I don't know _what's_ going on."

"M-makes two of us." He smiled kindly again, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and handed her his hanky. "Take your time."

"We went to the Royal Crescent Hotel," she sniffed, dabbing at her face with his handkerchief.

Foyle's eyes went wide and he clamped his bottom lip between his teeth.

"We had a marvellous dinner…three courses and everything…"

He let his breath out, face suddenly relieved, and made a vague motion with his hand to indicate she should go on.

"He paid with new five pound notes, just like what Milner said Sapper Ernest Jones tried to use in the pub."

"I see." Foyle nodded sagely, chewing his cheek. "Well, thank you for telling me."

"Please, sir, he isn't involved in this, I just know it."

"We don't _know_ that yet, Sam," he said evenly. "And you mustn't ask him about it. We don't know what the circumstances are and I don't want you getting mixed up in it."

She nodded, "Are you very cross with me?"

"Certainly not." He gave her a swift smile, the corners of his mouth turning down. He took the cup of tea and pressed it into her hands. "You'd better drink this. You could do with it."

"Can I still see him?" Her voice was earnest, almost desperate, the thought of not being able to go to him on Foyle's orders filling her with dread.

He looked at her for a moment, and seemed to realise saying 'no' would put her in an awkward position. Diplomatically, he said, "I'd _suggest_ not seeing him just yet, until we know he's in the clear."

She choked back a small sob, but nodded.

* * *

She slept very little that night, thoughts of what the sappers might have done racing through her mind. She had tried to reach Hammond at the HQ over the telephone — Mr Foyle had said not to _see_ him— but the captain was out on a call. Mr Foyle seemed to think it was all to do with this scheme at the docks — whole lists of names of people who no longer existed, but were still being paid. The money had to have gone somewhere…_embezzled_, he'd called it. She couldn't quite see how Hammond could be involved. But if there had been money stolen from the docks, then perhaps…

_No. _She couldn't allow herself to believe he was a thief. It was with a heavy heart that she finally slept in fits and starts, dreaming of dropping bombs.

The next day, Sam sat dispiritedly in a chair in the corner of Foyle's office, doing some of his filing and listening to him talking with Milner.

"I went back to the warehouse," Milner said, "and I found these." He placed two balls of what looked like putty on the desk, and Sam sat up from her chair, suddenly curious. "It's the crater."

"Seems strange that the engineers left it behind," Foyle, frowning.

"Yes, I thought so too," said Milner. "It means they must have dismantled the bomb there. I thought they just removed the fuse and blew it up later?"

Foyle's frown deepened.

A sharp knock came at the door. "Yes, come in."

Sergeant Rivers came in, looking for all the world as if he would rather be anywhere else. "Sir," he said, face creased with worry. "It's Sapper Jones…he's dead."

Foyle nodded, closing his eyes and sighing, "Right, thank you, Sergeant." His eyes snapped open to look at Sam, "Best get the car, Sam," he said quietly.

They drove quickly to the Royal Engineer's HQ, Sam's heart pounding. She was left by the car again, as Foyle and Milner went with the Medical Officer inside. About ten minutes later she saw the two policemen coming outside with Hammond. Their voices drifted across the pavement and she caught snippets of what was said.

"Tell me about the bomb at the dockyard," Foyle said.

"It was a Herman. We give them names, you see. A Herman is a thousand pound bomb, with a single fuse. It probably wasn't meant to blow up at once." Hammond tugged on his hat and looked at them, "The Jerries do it on purpose now. It causes more havoc and destruction than a simple bang."

Sam began to wring her hands, desperately wanting to go to him; to know what was happening and reassure herself everything was all right. _It most certainly isn't all right though, just look at them…_ Hammond turned back however, before being close enough to make eye contact. He may not have even seen her; he looked quite troubled himself, and Foyle returned to the Wolseley with a grave face.

They drove on, and as Sam changed gear she asked tentatively, "Sir? What's happened to Sapper Jones?"

"He was tortured and killed," Foyle said shortly. His eyes turned to meet hers as she quickly looked over at him. She saw that he was angry, but felt that it wasn't with her. _What had Ralph said to upset him?_ _Could he really be involved in this?  
_  
Knowing that Foyle was angry made it all the more difficult to keep her mind from worrying over Ralph. By the evening, she felt sick with worry. She couldn't even face the idea of supper. Susan was on shift, and the landlady was out at her sister's; Sam felt the quietness of the house overwhelming her. Finally, she went to the telephone and tried the RE HQ again.

The voice on the other end made her heart leap, "Captain Hammond here."

"Ralph, it's Sam. Oh thank God."

"Sam, my darling, are you all right? You sound frightfully out of breath."

"Don't go anywhere, I'm coming to see you."

She threw all caution to the wind and forgot Foyle's words. The sound of Hammond's warm voice across the line seemed to pull her, and she rang off, slamming the receiver down in a manner that would have garnered a stern look from the landlady.

Sam leapt on her bicycle and raced across the Old Town, tackling the hills like an Olympic champion. She arrived within ten minutes at the HQ, chest heaving, hair in slight disarray. She tossed the bicycle to one side and went up the stone steps. Her footfalls echoed in the hall, and she went on blindly not knowing where he would be. She ran into — literally — a young sapper, and she asked him, "Where is Captain Hammond?"

"Through there, miss," the young man pointed.

She continued on, and came to a sort of office. Beyond it was a small makeshift canteen which led onto the barracks. She found him sat cradling a tin cup of steaming tea, elbows on his knees. He had dirt in his hair, under his fingernails and smudged across his forehead. His jacket was thrown over the back of his chair, tie undone, and there were large sweat stains on his khaki shirt. He was the very image of masculinity. At the sound of her footsteps he looked up slowly. Their eyes met and she saw in him all the bravery and self-assuredness gone; the man who looked back at her was frightened and full of guilt.

In that moment, she loved him.

Hammond stood, ever the gentleman. In a voice full of emotion he asked, "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

She laughed incredulously and burst into tears simultaneously, crossing the office in three strides, and falling into his arms. Seeking his lips, she kissed him passionately, feeling the scratch of his shadowed stubble, tasting the dirt mingled with his sweat from his face. "I love you, I love you," she murmured in relief.

"I love you too," he whispered in her ear. "I thought of you in that moment before I defused the bomb, Sam, and I _knew_ that I loved you. I desperately didn't want to die and I nearly lost my head."

She gripped the back of his shirt between her fingers, clutching at him, afraid to lose him. "I'm so frightened," she cried.

He held her and stroked her hair, murmuring soft sweet nothings in her ear, calming her. She stopped crying, and he wiped her face with a hanky that had seen better days.

"Ernie's dead," he said sadly.

"I know. I was here earlier. Oh Ralph, what's going on?"

He sighed and ran a hand up and down her right arm, looking for words.

"Mr Foyle is furious about something. I don't know what you lot have done, but he's on the warpath."

"Oh my darling," he said, smiling at last, "don't cry, I'll sort it out. By two-thirty tomorrow afternoon it will all be over."

"Mr Foyle can help if you are in trouble, I know he will. You must tell me what's going on."

"I'm not a dishonest man," Hammond began quietly, "or at least I used not to be…My men and I…we're just cannon fodder, really. Precious little training or support. We find out how the Germans make their bombs by waiting until one of us gets blown up…"

She looked at him with eyes full of tears, trying to understand.

"It was an opportunity of a lifetime…a lifetime that for us, was likely to be quite, quite short."

And then she knew. "_Oh Ralph…_"

She began to cry again, both angry and frightened. He lifted her chin to look at him.

"It was stupid of me, and I dragged the others in too. I have to live with that. Poor Ernie..." He shook his head sadly.

"I should have known it would bring trouble. It was a moment of weakness, and I thought 'why not.' You see, I thought I had nothing to live for. That's all changed, Sam. _You _have changed that for me."

He kissed her, desperate for her to understand. "It will be all be sorted tomorrow, you'll see."

She nodded miserably against his shoulder. "You should go to Mr Foyle, Ralph, really you should…you'll only get into more trouble otherwise."

"I will, just give me one more day..."

A little cough behind them startled them both, and they looked around to see Jack Archer standing in the doorway to the office. "Sorry, sir; Sam." He nodded at her, smiling shyly. "We've got a call out, Captain."

"Thank you, Corporal, I'll be there presently."

Archer left them, and Hammond smiled down at her, still entwined in his arms. "Duty calls. Don't worry, Sam, it will all be all right. Please trust me."

She nodded again.

He kissed her, and murmured, "Best _not_ make a habit of this, darling, the other chaps will become jealous…"

She gave him a push and kissed him once more before letting him get his gear together. "I love you."

"I love _you_. We'll have dinner tomorrow after it's all over, all right?"

"Do I get to drive the MG?"

"_Absolutely._" He grinned and she left, looking over her shoulder at him once before moving out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

_Part Three_

She came in with a cup of tea, finding Foyle staring at the two pieces of 'putty' that Milner had found. He didn't look up when she set the tea on the desk, and she had the distinct impression he was completely lost in thought. He was chewing his cheek and had that look about him. A part of her was desperate to tell him about what she knew. It felt almost disloyal not to.

_But what do I know?_ she reasoned. Hammond hadn't said much of anything, and she wasn't sure what he had planned.

"I think we had better go back to talk to your Captain Hammond," he said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. He looked up then, and Sam saw a resigned look come into his face. She nodded sadly, thinking that at least in a prison cell, Hammond would be safe from bombs and would live to eventually make a life with her.

"He did take it, sir… the money I mean."

Foyle stood and jammed on his hat, "Tell me in the car."

He popped his head into Milner's office as they went down the corridor of the Police station. "Milner, better get the lads and follow us. I believe I know what's happened."

Once in the Wolseley, Sam told him everything she knew, albeit not much, but Foyle seemed satisfied.

"I knew he was lying yesterday," said Foyle, making a face at the windscreen. "Silly bugger. Could have saved himself a lot of trouble if he'd have come to me first. Might have saved Jones' life too."

"I told him to go to you," she said, wiping away a tear with her gauntleted hand.

"You went to see him, didn't you." He said it as a statement rather than a question.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Foyle made a small tutting sound, "Yes, well if you had come to me directly we might not be in this mess. I mean how long have you known this chap? _Really_, Sam."

She knew he had every right to be frustrated with her, and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

At the HQ they found Archer tinkering with the small lorry. He looked up as Sam pulled in.

"Where's Captain Hammond?" Foyle asked quickly as they stepped out.

"He's not here."

Foyle came to stand beside him. "That's not quite what I asked."

The other police car pulled in behind the Wolseley and Milner got out. Archer shot a wary look at him, before flicking his eyes back to Foyle. "He left about an hour ago. I don't know where."

"You're lying. Where's Captain Hammond?" There was a sense of urgency about Foyle's words and Sam looked at him quickly.

Archer looked at him sulkily, pursing his lips.

"Look, Jones was killed over this; you and Hammond will be next, so wouldn't it be better to tell me what you know? Has he gone to see the Talbot brothers? Has he got the money?"

Archer continued in his sulky silence, and Sam could take it no longer. On hearing that Hammond might be in danger, she flung herself towards Archer.

"Oh Jack, please tell them, please. If he's in danger, he'll need our help, don't you see?"

Archer looked at her in some surprise as she gripped his arm. "Sam…I can't…"

"I know he told you to keep mum, and I know you always do as he says, but please, Jack." She leaned in, finding his eyes and meeting them squarely, "I love him. Please help us."

He closed his eyes against the intensity of her gaze. "All right," he nodded. "He's at the abandoned farm out by St Helen's Wood. Gone to meet the Talbots."

Sam turned to Foyle, pleading with him silently to help her find Hammond. He nodded.

"Thank you, Jack." She squeezed his arm.

"Has he got the explosives too?" Foyle asked as an afterthought, pivoting on his heel.

Jack nodded, and Sam went pale, the blood racing from her face.

"Right."

They went back to the car, and Sam drove faster than was probably safe. She wanted to cry but focusing on the road was more important. Foyle chewed his cheek in silence.

"I should have told you sooner," she said at last, turning onto a dirt road near the wood.

"The fact that you, er...love him has nothing to do with me."

"No, that he might have been involved."

"Well, yes, but we've established that. I just didn't realise how far…this, er…had gone. It's a good thing I trust you. You might have helped him and then where would we be?"

She felt momentarily indignant at the question of her loyalty.

"There's his car," she cried, braking hard and turning towards the clearing. Yes, there was the little MG, next to a large Humbler. Beyond the cars old farm buildings stood, crumbling and creaking in the wind.

Just as Sam turned off the motor they heard the sharp report of pistol fire.

"_Ralph_!"

She sprang out and Foyle had to use all his speed and agility to grab her before she ran into danger. "_No_, Sam, you must stay back."

She struggled in his arms, but his grip was vice-like. "Ralph!" she cried again.

A second shot rang out as the other police car pulled up.

"Sir?" Milner asked, having heard the shot.

Foyle put his mouth near Sam's ear, "Stay here, and let us sort this out. _Please_, Sam, stay here for your own safety."

She went limp in his arms, and he relaxed his grip. He moved forwards with Milner, "Right, come on."

The next second there was a flash and the front of a barn set between other outbuildings burst into bright flames. They all ducked as one instinctively.

She stared, eyes smarting from the brightness of the blaze. _He's dead…he's dead…_ The world began to go black.

Foyle reached her just in time before she hit the ground.

* * *

_Dear Sam,_

_ If you are reading this, my darling girl, then my gamble didn't pay off, and I'm truly sorry. I've never been sorry for anything before, but I am for this. You, dearest Sam, were such a light in my life; a spark I had never expected that took me completely by surprise. The spark to my fuse, you might say. You brought such meaning into my life. With you, I felt I had a purpose and I so, so wanted to live to make you happy. If I could have made you happy, then I would have been complete._

_ But now, you must go on without me. Killed by a German explosive after all…just not in the usual way. You'd tell me not to joke at a time like this, but there we are. I've been a fool, Miss Samantha Stewart, completely and unequivocally. But equally I've been the luckiest man to know you. I hope, in some selfish way, that you will go on to be very happy in this life. You are a wonderful person, so kind and with such capacity to love and give. You are also strong, Sam, and I know if you're about, Jerry won't stand a chance. Go give them your best. Go on for me, go on for all the others that will die in this godforsaken war; go on, please my darling, for a life that I know will be full and happy if you let it._

_ I will think of you in the second before, and take with me the happiness you brought me in this short life._

_With all my love,_  
_Ralph_

Sam could not remember how she had come to arrive in Foyle's front room, on his sofa, a tumbler of strong whiskey being pushed into her hand as she sat up. Her tie and shoes had been removed, and her face felt damp from a cool cloth. Her mind felt numb, eyes unseeing and she now sat staring in front of her. Foyle had been watching her; of all people he, widowed for nearly ten years, understood loss, and at this moment he knew it was best to let her be. Sam was grateful in a disconnected way.

A constable came to bring Milner by. "We've found the money, sir; in his quarters. This was on top of it." He handed Foyle an envelope with Sam's name on it.

He had given it to her, and she had read it over and over until finally the words sunk in. Ralph Hammond was gone; another causality of war. A sob, rising from the very depths of her, broke free. Foyle was there by her side then, removing the tumbler to a safe place on the side table. He knelt at her knee, and she noticed for the first time that he was in his shirt sleeves and braces. _How long have I been here?_ He had stubble beginning, and the eyes with which he looked at her were deep and sad.

She sobbed again, falling into his arms, collapsing against him. With no recollection of the moments after the blast, she now felt the full fury of the pain. She beat a limp hand against Foyle's chest, crying out. She was angry. _How could Ralph be so reckless…how could he leave me here alone like this?_ And Foyle let her be angry; he allowed the waves of her anguish to engulf him, and bore it well. They both knew pain and suffering, and he bit his lip, understanding words were useless just now.

His consolation was gentle and she soon cried herself out. The first thing she said, in a voice hoarse and thick, "How long have I been here?"

"You were out for about two hours. The doctor's seen you. Do you want me to take you home?"

"No, I don't want to be alone."

He nodded, wiping her face with his pristine hanky. It reminded her of Hammond old one that he had used at their last meeting and she gave a throaty chuckle that quickly turned into fresh tears.

"Can I call anyone for you?" Foyle asked, seeing it best to be practical while she was capable of talking.

"No. No one _knew_ … Perhaps Gwen did, but she'll be comforting Jack...he'll be devastated. Besides...her Jack is still alive, and I shouldn't like to resent her for that."

The corner of Foyle's mouth lifted in a small smile, recognising her kindness and sense even at a time like this.

"And Daddy will only quote the Bible at me, and I really couldn't bear _that_ at this particular moment. Susan will be on shift… No, if you don't mind awfully, sir…I think _you_ would be the best just now."

"We two, we happy two…" he murmured, misquoting and yet making his meaning clear. They alone could understand the other in this moment of loss.

"I know we hadn't know each other long, and yet…"

"Love knows no boundaries or time limits, Sam. It just_ is_."

She sniffed heavily, nodding.

"Tell me," she began, "does it get easier or shall I stop breathing from this—" she pointed to her chest, "suffocating feeling inside…" _Is this what a heart breaking feels like...?_

"You are a strong woman, Sam," he said, leaning back to look at her and holding on to her arms firmly, "and you will get through this because you _must_. There are others that depend on you."

She nodded, twisting the sodden hanky between her fingers.

"And," he said under his breath, ever so softly, "I'm right here, Sam, if you need me."

She fell against him again, tears flooding her, voice lost once more.

"I can't tell you it will be easy; I _can_ say you'll be all right, but you won't believe it until the day you feel it. I can't say that it doesn't consume you, but I can tell you the day you choose to not let it, you begin to become whole again."

His words murmured over her and Sam had the fleeting impression this was the most she'd heard him speak in one go in a long time. There were no shadows to hide behind here in this land of grief; it was all stark and real. Far, far too real.

In the dying light of evening, she clung to Foyle as if her life depended on it and let him try to sooth her. She was inconsolable, but a part of her struggled forwards beyond the numbness. She wanted to live for her Captain Hammond so that he could be remembered. There was a sense of duty with carrying on. She was now just one of many who had lost someone to the war.

Sam allowed herself a moment to remember his strong chin that jutted proudly; blue eyes that looked on the world with such laughter; the hope of his firm kiss and the softness of his steady touch. He had given her so much and she would not forget him.

"Don't think badly of him, will you?" she asked fervently.

"No, certainly not. He was a hero," Foyle said, tightening his arm around her. "An _unfortunate_ hero."

She gulped, nodding against his now sodden shoulder, "Yes…an unfortunate hero."

_Fin_


End file.
